Chapter 544: The Return

Yue Pengwu suddenly appeared on the battlefield, exerting a tremendous impact on both sides’ momentum and morale—especially in this region of Jiangnan, where Yue Qianfeng and others’ spirits surged instantly.

Yue Qianfeng burst into loud laughter: “Hahaha, Guanyi, my lord.”

“He’s become a Martial Legend?!”

“Hahaha, I knew it, I knew it!”

“This threshold could never hold him back—how old is he now?! Only twenty-two! A Martial Legend at twenty-two—unbelievable, utterly unbelievable!” Yue Qianfeng wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with a casual hand, his eyes burning like crimson flames.

“Good, press forward!”

No words were needed to reorganize or adjust the battle formation.

The moment Yue Pengwu appeared, everything shifted naturally—he swung his Liquan Divine Spear, and the Golden-Winged Great Peng’s spiritual form let out a piercing cry, immediately targeting Yuwen Lie.

Yuwen Lie had intended to challenge the first divine general of five hundred years ago.

But Yue Pengwu’s spear was overwhelmingly fierce; their spears clashed, one like a roaring tiger radiating majesty, the other like a golden-winged great peng striking with lethal precision—their spiritual forms’ roars shook the air, as if stirring the entire battlefield into chaos.

Each clash sent out shockwaves strong enough to shatter and deflect incoming crossbow bolts and arrows, rippling the air into visible waves of distortion, their might overwhelming.

He Ruo Qinhu’s eyes turned cold—he sought to redirect his forces to join Yuwen Lie.

On the battlefield, he always judged the situation and made the correct choice.

Wielding a horse spear in one hand and a stolen long blade in the other, he charged across the battlefield, driving back Chen Wenmian and Xiao Wuiliang, pressing forward to link up with Yuwen Lie and crush Yue Pengwu swiftly.

He Ruo Qinhu’s gaze locked unblinkingly onto Yue Pengwu on the battlefield.

In his line of sight, only this man existed.

His dragon steed galloped like a dragon, forcibly piercing through the battlefield—his weapons raised, radiating spiritual aura—just as he prepared to charge and join Yuwen Lie.

Ripples surfaced in the air, and from within them, golden-red flames surged upward.

Intense fire erupted in the corner of He Ruo Qinhu’s vision, followed by a soaring, peerless battle-cry dragon’s roar as a torrent of blazing fire surged toward him.

The Crimson Dragon spiritual form reappeared on the battlefield.

Yue Qianfeng swung his battle halberd and axe in a wide arc, pressing down with full force—He Ruo Qinhu had no choice but to drop his left-hand blade, raise his horse spear, and block this ferocious divine general.

Such raw power!

The sudden burst of fury from Yue Qianfeng startled He Ruo Qinhu—even with eighth-layer Qi, he could barely hold his ground, but that was all.

He Ruo Qinhu prepared to strike down Yue Qianfeng.

Then came the whistle of a projectile—he instinctively dodged.

A fragment of his circulating protective aura shattered; golden-red flames flashed across his vision, leaving a clear trace like a golden phoenix flicking its tail.

Li Zhao!

This arrow caught him off guard—he dodged it, but his helmet was knocked askew; he sensed two immense energies rapidly approaching from behind—Xiao Wuiliang and Chen Wenmian—while Qin Yulong remained pinned down by the rest of the Qilin Army’s generals.

Four generals among the top ten—or destined to be.

Even He Ruo Qinhu, at ninth-layer, could not easily overcome them.

Yue Qianfeng held He Ruo Qinhu’s strike with both weapons.

Then he suddenly grinned, locking his weapons around the divine general.

He knew he couldn’t defeat He Ruo Qinhu in single combat—but still, he raised his head and slammed it straight into He Ruo Qinhu’s face.

Such a low, gutter-fighting tactic—like a thug or mountain bandit brawl—appeared on this battlefield, utterly inconceivable.

Even a ninth-layer divine general’s face wasn’t harder than an eighth-layer warrior’s skull.

Especially since Li Zhao’s arrow had knocked off his helmet.

Yue Qianfeng’s headbutt sent golden stars flashing before He Ruo Qinhu’s eyes, crooked his nose, and drew blood—its physical damage was negligible to a divine general.

But the humiliation to his spirit was immense.

He Ruo Qinhu’s rage exploded in an instant.

“Yue Qianfeng?!!!”

Yue Qianfeng sneered, his forehead bruised but defiant: “I, Old Yue, was once just a bandit driven into the hills. In this life, I admire only two men. One is Marshal Yue—he pulled me out of the wilderness.”

“The other is Grandpa Ji Yanzhong.”

“If not for Grandpa teaching me martial arts, instructing me in weaponry, and telling me the world wasn’t yet settled—that a true man shouldn’t spend his life as a thief—I’d be dead in some mountain ravine, rotting away.”

Yue Qianfeng’s eyes grew slightly red.

Like an enraged beast, he glared at the divine general before him: “No matter what, your arrow ruined Grandpa’s body—he died at your hands. Today, I demand justice!”

Who actually killed Ji Yanzhong?

He Ruo Qinhu thought: Was it him and Yuwen Lie? Ji Yanzhong himself? Or the world? Perhaps all, perhaps none.

He no longer cared.

On the battlefield, talk is worthless!

“If you want revenge for that arrow, prove you’ve got the strength!”

He Ruo Qinhu roared, his horse spear trembled violently, releasing terrifying internal force that forcibly drove back Yue Qianfeng—man, weapon, and steed alike—and then spun around to thrust back Xiao Wuiliang and Chen Wenmian.

Standing firm on the battlefield, he declared:

“Come, kill me!”

The core of the battlefield instantly split into three parts.

Qin Yulong was pinned down by seven or eight eighth-layer generals—Ye Chongdao, Zhou Xianping, Duan Qingyu—his skill level similar to Yue Qianfeng’s; though he firmly dominated Duan Qingyu from the southwest, with Ye and Zhou flanking him, he could only hold his ground, unable to reinforce others.

Four renowned generals surrounded He Ruo Qinhu, locked in relentless combat.

The old general still fought with unyielding valor.

He held his own, even fought with brutal dominance.

On the other side: Yuwen Lie and Yue Pengwu.

They were similar in age, both masters of the long spear, clashing with immense, heroic power—the pinnacle of ninth-layer cultivation.

Yue Pengwu’s arrival greatly boosted the entire Qilin Army’s prestige.

Yet in the hearts of the three divine generals of Ying Guo, a shadow began to spread.

He said—the Qin Prince has become a Martial Legend?!

That means, right now in Zhenbei City, the Qin Prince alone, perhaps with the city’s military momentum, can hold off the Divine General Jiang Su?!

Even these battle-hardened divine generals, whose minds were pure and upright, their thoughts instantly severed of distractions, still felt a whisper of doubt.

Two armies had set out.

Jiang Wanxiang’s battle with the Sword God Murong Longtu shattered his destiny.

After holding on for several days, he ultimately passed away.

This route had already failed; even if they’d used it to kill two birds with one stone—diminishing the Qilin Army’s strength and wiping out the powerful clans of Zhongzhou and Ying Guo—it was already the best outcome.

But Yue Pengwu’s appearance blocked this strategic direction that Yuwen Lie and He Ruo Qinhu had been pursuing.

This route’s collapse was now inevitable.

And if the Qin Prince can match Jiang Su, the path through Zhenbei City is likely doomed too.

Even Ying Guo’s generals knew: to defeat the Qin Prince and the Qilin Army, they must strike swiftly—not drag it out. Yet even with full force, they had misjudged.

Where was the misjudgment?

Was it in the Qin Prince’s ferocity, his desperate stand against Grand Tutor Jiang Su, shattering the legend?

Or in the Sword Madman’s unrestrained sword, embodying the entire world’s martial spirit?

Yet on this battlefield, Xue Shen remained silent for a moment, rubbed his nose, thought deeply, then hefted his Tiger Roar Heaven Spear and Cloud-Shattering Bow and grunted as he climbed back up the city wall.

Old Siming: “…………”

Guan Shier: “…………”

The two tears shed by the Yin-Yang School Grand Master and the Mo Family Elder were forcibly swallowed back by Xue Shen’s sprawled, clumsy climb.

Xue Shen scratched his head, sensing the awkwardness, and said:

“Cough, cough—well, that was truly brilliant!”

Xue Shen’s tone was cheerful, as if nothing had just happened.

“Hey, I’m back!”

Silence. Utter silence.

Perhaps because the battlefield’s thunderous clamor made this silence even more oppressive—even Xue Shen couldn’t bear it, and asked hesitantly:

“Well, uh, the atmosphere’s already reached this point.”

“Should I just go down, die, then come back up?!”

Guan Shier’s lip twitched, annoyed: “Die? If your body’s shattered, I’ll have to rebuild you from scratch. Better say something useful—how do we break this battlefield situation?”

Xue Shen looked at the battlefield, eyes bright and calm: “Don’t worry—the situation is clear. We’ve already won this defense. Isn’t it obvious?”

Guan Shier and Old Siming exchanged glances.

The Mo Family’s genius elder—the foremost master of mechanical arts—and the Yin-Yang School’s Grand Master both saw faint confusion in each other’s eyes. Xue Shen lazily raised three fingers: “We have three victories; they have three defeats.”

“Ying Guo came with overwhelming momentum, striking with full force.”

“But Jiang Wanxiang’s collapse shattered that momentum.”

“Even if these three suppress the news, conceal his death, and try not to affect the army’s morale and momentum—truth remains truth. What happened is like a sharp blade, cutting through their inner spirit.”

“Leadership is gone.”

“At this point, Ying Guo’s army has lost its core.”

“It cannot possibly continue fighting us here to the death.”

“This is our victory—and their defeat.”

“All they’re waiting for is hope—that Jiang Su in Zhenbei City can wear down Li Guanyi, and that Jiang Su alone can tie down Li Guanyi and Yue Pengwu, gaining advantage here through a ‘piece exchange’ strategy.”

But when Yue Pengwu rushed to reinforce, Li Guanyi broke through, snapping that second breath as well.

This is what they call: the second strike weakens.

By this point, no matter how unwilling they were, they could only finish this battle and then retreat—but they would still fight on.

They still carried a fierce, courageous spirit that kept these men locked in battle. Truly, such elite and loyal troops were rare under heaven, especially under these circumstances, still holding onto their will to fight.

But now, this is the third time.

One strike fuels momentum, the second weakens it, the third exhausts it.

With the army’s spirit spent, morale low, even if every officer and soldier were united, they could do nothing. Today, I shall seize their [General], seize their [Spirit], and with this single arrow, drive back these three armies!

Xue Shenjiang gripped the Break-Cloud Thunderbow, and the White Tiger Dharma Form appeared.

He slowly drew the divine weapon; the ancient warbow hummed faintly, radiating a fierce, predatory courage like a tiger on the hunt. His battle robe flared, his eyes blazed bright as fire, fixed unwaveringly on the battlefield.

As if the gods and buddhas loomed above, gazing down upon this grim mortal realm.

Only now.

Only when his mouth was closed.

Did a trace of the unique aura of the world’s greatest emerge upon him.

When Xue Shenjiang released his fingers, the bowstring trembled and sang like countless birds sweeping across the earth. Then he let out a thunderous roar, his voice booming like war drums: “Jiang Wanxiang is dead—slain by the Sword Madman Long Tu!”

The words carried far beyond the shriek of the arrow splitting the air.

In an instant, they swept across the battlefield.

Had these words been spoken during the [first strike] phase, when General Jiang Su was invincible, he would not only have blocked Li Guanyi of Qin at Zhenbeixiongcheng, but also held back Yue Pengwu—one of the top ten divine generals under heaven.

That sentence would have ignited the entire Ying army’s united hatred.

It would have turned this army into a mourning host, fueled by loyalty to their fallen monarch, unstoppable in battle.

But now, the vanguard—composed of elite families—had been annihilated beyond Jiangnan’s city walls, and Yue Pengwu’s reinforcement had already brought the first strike, then the weakening. Now, to utter this sentence would produce a completely different effect.

Especially since this was not a pre-battle rallying cry to stir morale.

It was a third, crushing blow, delivered on the battlefield itself, to crush morale.

The Ying army’s momentum froze instantly. All the confusion, doubts—why Jiang Wanxiang never showed himself—rose in their minds, piling layer upon layer, shattering their fighting spirit.

The Break-Cloud Thunderbow’s arrow pierced the clouds, cutting through the grim, biting battlefield.

Finally, it shot through Jiang Wanxiang’s banner.

Xue Shenjiang’s arrow’s radiant light faded slowly in the air, accompanied by a thunderous crash. The massive black-and-blue dragon-patterned banner, which had stood for decades in the hearts of the Ying people and across the realm, rolled and crashed heavily into the waves of the battlefield.

Just like the heart of this Ying army.

Xue Shenjiang hurled the divine weapon aside, strode to a massive war drum placed on the city wall, seized the drumstick, and struck it with all his might. The drumbeat roared, spurring men forward. Xue Shenjiang shouted loudly: “Advance!!!”

The enemy here was, without doubt, the world’s greatest adversary.

But the Qilin Army standing here—

Were they ever ordinary?

They came from the Western Regions, the Southwest, Chen Guo, and the Tujue, forged through countless battles. Once a mere three-thousand-strong band of wandering soldiers, the Qilin Army, tempered by a hundred wars, was now unquestionably the elite force of the age.

Their commander was peerless in this age.

This day’s battle lasted hours. Xue Shenjiang’s drumbeat never ceased. The drum’s sound, fueled by the martial fury of the soldier and the bold courage of the general, echoed within their hearts, driving them forward.

After the great battle, it was not a decisive victory—but Yuwen Lie and others ultimately led their forces to retreat, leaving behind countless corpses and countless bloodstained weapons, planted in the earth, their sounds mournful in the wind.

Even if the divine generals still wished to fight on.

But morale, once cracked and beginning to collapse, is like an earth dragon turning or a snow mountain crumbling—once it starts, the collapse is relentless. One man can break a squad of fierce soldiers; ten can break a hundred.

And their opponent was precisely the divine general who had once excelled at shattering army morale.

After the battle, even the Old Seer felt his heart pound violently, overcome with dizziness, staring at the grim battlefield for a long time without returning to himself.

Such a great battle had ended.

Such a great battle had been won.

On the battlefield, only breathing remained, and a thin silence. He had expected Xue Shenjiang to open his mouth, crack a joke, lighten the mood—but now, the divine general who had shattered three armies with one arrow, his demeanor was solemn.

In each hand, he gripped heavy drumsticks, raised high.

Then, with all his might, he brought them down.

BOOM!

A single drumbeat echoed across all directions, as if shaking loose the daze after battle, dispelling the battlefield’s grimness, forcing countless eyes to instinctively turn back toward the divine general atop the city wall.

Xue Shenjiang held the drumsticks high, solemn and commanding, and shouted:

“Wind!”

After several seconds of silence,

Countless weapons rose, pointing to the heavens.

Then came the joy of victory, the desperate resolve to halt the enemy’s onslaught, the determination to survive, the grief for fallen comrades—all these complex emotions burst forth in a roar.

“Wind!”

“Great Wind!!!”

Guan Shier, the Old Seer, watched as Xue Shenjiang’s drumsticks fell to the ground, his expression solemn. He clasped his hands in salute, bowed deeply, and cried out:

“Comrades, how magnificent!”

“To honor you all.”

“Great victory! Great glory!”

The wind howled fiercely, grim as ever, flowing just as it had five hundred years ago—then, the first divine general of that age, the war god of his time,

stood here.

Guan Shier, the Old Seer, felt as if he had seen a ghost.

No—this was no ghost. This was a five-hundred-year-old ghost!

Truly, walk too many night paths, and you open a ghost’s eye. This battle, after both sides paid a heavy price, ended briefly. Yuwen Lie and others retreated dozens of li, then recalled Jiang Wanxiang’s final words—and fell silent.

They had never imagined it would come true: Jiang Wanxiang had warned them this campaign would likely fail. All three divine generals knew now: having failed to achieve a decisive victory, Ying Guo would now hold the disadvantage.

After only two days of rest, urgent intelligence arrived.

The report revealed that Dou De and other rebels had pierced Ying Guo’s interior like a sharp blade. In ordinary times, had Jiang Wanxiang still lived, he might have chosen to press on.

But now, Jiang Wanxiang was dead.

Precisely because this man had been, in life, the very symbol of Ying Guo, his death struck the army with immense shock and impact.

At this moment, they could not allow Jiang Wanxiang’s two sons to both die.

Dou De was the flame left behind by the Wolf King.

An eighth-layer heaven martial hero, using the Wolf King’s tactics to rally wandering knights. Eventually, Yuwen Lie, He Ruo, and Qin Yulong had no choice but to retreat. But at this moment, He Ruo suddenly understood the problem on the battlefield.

Where did we lose?

Did we lose because we failed to see the martial world of the Sword Madman? Or because we failed to see the Qilin Army’s resolve?

No, Your Majesty…

The old general stared at the intelligence in his hand, sighed softly, and said:

“We lost because we underestimated the people of this world.”

The great army withdrew. The Qilin Army remained to garrison. After the violent clash, the realm slowly settled into a brief calm. The war in Jiangnan ended; the battle beyond Zhenbeixiongcheng also drew to a close.

After the main army suffered strategic defeat,

Jiang Su’s continued resistance had become meaningless.

In Jiangnan stood a city.

Inside it once lived an old man.

An old swordsman.

Now, only a zither and a woman remained.

Beneath the great tree, Murong Qiushui cradled the zither. She was not so sorrowful. Yes, her heart was calm, for she had long known her grandfather’s nature, understood what kind of swordsman he was.

For Murong Longtu, death was not an end.

To die upon a bed would have been regret.

Murong Qiushui had learned to respect her grandfather’s choice. Through years of companionship, she knew he had already lived out his most cherished peaceful years. She gradually let go of her clinging grief—not merely sorrow, but also blessing, a quiet certainty.

Many worried for her, yet they saw this extraordinary woman remain composed, showing not a trace of sorrow. She simply said: “Sad?”

“My grandfather achieved his wish. In a swordsman’s family, this is no cause for grief.”

“How could a Murong child behave like a weeping, sentimental girl?”

“It would only invite ridicule.”

Thus, all admired her.

Yet she still worried for that child.

She knew that with Yue Pengwu’s return, the strategic situation in Jiangnan was settled. But Yue Pengwu’s return meant the most dangerous part of the battlefield had been entrusted to one man.

The Qilin Army’s one and only, irreplaceable heart.

The sole core of the Tiance Prefecture.

The Prince of Qin still stood, as ever, at the most perilous front.

When the Zhenbeixiongcheng front temporarily stilled, Murong Qiushui was relieved, sighed with ease. She did not believe in gods or buddhas—but that day, she clasped her hands together, thanking every deity and bodhisattva she knew.

Today, the garrison troops of Zhenbeixiongcheng rotated back. The Prince of Qin returned.

Murong Qiushui thought herself calm.

But when she learned Li Guanyi had returned—and that he was already here—the woman who had faced Murong Longtu’s departure with composure felt her heart suddenly crack open.

It was as if the earlier calm had merely been springtime floating ice.

But before outsiders, before the grand scheme, she could not show her grief or sorrow—only remain cold, freezing her sorrow solid.

Some emotions could only be shown to the closest kin.

The Qinyin did not sound a single string; she knew Qin Wang had returned and went to meet him. But when the gate opened, Murong Qiushui opened her mouth, instinctively raised her hand to cover her lips, and her vision blurred.

A crimson qilin-patterned battle robe swayed in the wind as the armored youth approached; his brow was calm, but Murong Qiushui’s tears fell as she trembled, reaching out to press her hand against Li Guanyi’s cheek, against his temple.

A martial legend, unparalleled in a thousand ages.

Yet the youth’s temples were now streaked with white hair.

He was the Divine General, the one who controlled military might and the fate of half the realm for three hundred years of national destiny—alone, he had fought to carve out opportunity for Jiangnan, and thus paid a price sufficient in sacrifice and resolve.

He bore the four characters: “Peace and Tranquility.”

It was not enough to merely speak them.

To understand responsibility and its cost is to grow; to know the price yet march forward without hesitation is to be a hero.

After Zhang Ziyong slew three thousand Iron Floating Castles alone, even his Immortal Life cultivation body turned both temples white—today, Qin Wang is the same.

Murong Qiushui reached out and brushed her fingers through Li Guanyi’s white hair.

Li Guanyi pressed Murong Qiushui’s hand, pressing it to his cheek, and whispered:

“Little Cat has returned, Auntie.”

He was the Qin Wang who had sent every general to Jiangnan, entrusted the chance of peace and victory to his comrades, and locked himself beyond Zhenbei Pass, standing at the very front.

He said: “I fight alongside you.”

He said: “Fight together!”

He said: “I am the spearhead. We must have peace.”

On the outskirts of Zhenbei City, battling the Divine General, trading wounds, never retreating a step, Li Guanyi’s face broke into a gentle smile, whispering:

“Auntie.”

“Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid.”

His smile was warm; then he blinked his right eye, smirking lightly:

“I’ve taken the Elixir of Immortality.”

Murong Qiushui wept uncontrollably.

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